


New Dream

by writerllofllworlds



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Dehumanization, Electrocution, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Irondad, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Pain, Peter Parker Calls Tony Stark "Dad", Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Pure Peter Parker, Referenced depression, Suicide Attempt, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Lives, Torture, Waterboarding, Whump, no beta we die like men, spiderson, tony stark is a dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:01:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21764170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerllofllworlds/pseuds/writerllofllworlds
Summary: “You ever tried to escape?”Peter chuckled. “Yeah. Lots of times I end up back here, brink of death. Though, twice Tennison was so impressed he let me have extra dinner and no experiments the next day.”“Wow, kiddo, living the luxurious life, huh?” it was astounding how quickly they’d fallen into a comfortable companionship.“There was a guard who helped me once,” Peter’s smile dropped with his volume. “But he had to leave. They never found out he helped me. I was hoping…”He trailed off and shook his head. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to hitch a ride with you when Captain America comes to bust you out, huh?”Tony’s heart jumped. Oh, kid, if you knew just how much I wished for that. “Yeah, I guess I’ll let you come along. Only one stowaway allowed, though, you hear me? No weird mutated turtles or rats or something.”Peter laughed again, and for a moment the cold cell felt warm.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 110
Kudos: 1595
Collections: Avidreaders Avengers completed faves, Avidreaders Spiderman completed faves, Dad Tony & Son Peter, IronDad (and his Spiderson), Irondad and his Iron kids, Peter Parker Stories, Tony Stark Has A Heart (deal with it), ellie marvel fics - read, god tier spider-man fics, you_haven't_lived_if_you_haven't_read_these_masterpieces





	New Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey hey, look who's alive?
> 
> More Irondad and Spiderson content because I'm a mess, school is killing me, and I've given up on life. 
> 
> So here's some whump and angst and a little fluff mixed in. 
> 
> I don't own Marvel. Hope you enjoy!

Tony woke up in a cold cell.

A groan pulled itself from his sore throat and he coughed roughly at the hoarse sound. He winced at the light flickering on and off as his eyelids fluttered open. His body ached and he could already see the bruises that were taking shape under his clothes. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he waited for his vision to adjust before assessing his predicament.

He was chained. This was the first thing he noticed. The second was that he was cold. Glancing down, he could have sworn he had dressed himself in a suit that morning. His fancy clothes had been traded for a ratty pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt (he tried not to think about the fact that someone had changed him while he was unconscious); the shackles were loose enough around his wrists to prevent breaking into his skin yet also didn’t inhibit him rolling up his sleeves, which he did. He had socks and shoes on, which was a comfort since his feet definitely would not have been happy about the temperature in this place. He tested the restraints several times, but he was no Captain America. Getting out of this place would not be so easy as shattering his chains and bending the cell bars to get out.

It wasn’t a single cell type deal. He was in one of eight cells. Each cage was about ten feet by ten feet, and roughly twelve feet high. None of them looked like they’d been used for a long time. His prison was situated at the leftmost corner, farthest from the door; instead of having three walls of bars, he only had two, the third exchanged for a cold concrete structure that definitely wasn’t good for his back. There was a walkway separating the cells, four on each side of the small walkway, with lights hanging about every three feet above it. Only two of the lights were working – one at the entrance of the room and one two cells down from Tony. However, there was a hole in the cell immediately to his left at the very top of the cell wall. Light was streaming in, falling across the old bars and making them shine.

“Fantastic.” Tony scowled. He wondered who had kidnapped him this time and if they would be offering him money, holding him for ransom _for_ money, or just threatening to kill him. It was always a tossup.

Twisting his wrist, he discovered he didn’t have his watch, so calling for a suit or for help would be impossible in his current state. Fairly certain he had been in Moscow that morning for a conference, he tried to see if he still had his phone on him – Pepper would kill him if he didn’t have it during his meetings – but no such luck on that end either. As if his kidnapper was stupid enough to leave Tony Stark’s phone on his person when throwing him into a dark cell.

Well, that wasn’t completely outrageous. They had kidnapped Iron Man, after all. They weren’t the brightest.

He gave Rhodey and Cap five hours, ten at most.

Lordie, he was starving. He wondered when that started. The cell next to him had a bowl, but it was broken in several places. He assumed it hadn’t been touched in centuries. Glancing around at the walls again, he thought they looked like pictures of castles. Stone laid over stone in a pattern to keep the fortifications together. If this place was as old as that bowl over there, then it would explain the gap letting the light through. He’d be falling apart too.

Tony sighed, pushing himself into an upright position against the wall. His shoulders ached and he could really use someone to pop his back, but he’d manage. He hoped Pepper wasn’t insanely mad at him for skipping his meeting with their Russian colleagues. It wasn’t actually by choice this time.

Oh, he was already bored. It took a giant group of heroes to defeat Thanos in like, ten minutes. How long did it take two war heroes to find one missing billionaire?

The door at the end of the room was thrown open and Tony jumped.

In strode a man decked out in full fur all the way down to his feet. He could have been a Viking if the black suit hadn’t clashed so spectacularly with that image. His dress shoes clicked against the stone floor as he strolled down the aisle to Tony’s cell. He had a strong jaw and dark brows to match his dark hair. His beard reminded Tony of a picture he had seen of Steve from when he was rogue. He would have called the man handsome if he hadn’t been chained against a wall in some unknown location with an uncertain view of his near future.

“Good morning, Anthony,” the man’s voice was deep and rich, like the dwarf king from The Hobbit movies, and distinctly English. He fit right into Tony’s idea of this place being a castle. “I hope you slept well.”

“Mornin’ Govnah,” Tony put on his worst English accent and grinned tightly. “Can’ say it’s the best I’ve ‘ad, but it’ll do.”

The man raised one of those ebony brows. “Trying to insult your captor probably isn’t in your best interest, Anthony,” oh, he hated that. “But, then again, I didn’t expect you to be like most of my other hostages. You are an enigma.”

“Thank you,” he replied through clenched teeth. He dropped the accent. “Might I have the pleasure of getting your name? It seems fair, since you know mine. And, you know, since I’m chained to your wall.”

His captor chuckled, the dark sound filling the empty prison like a layer of poisonous fog. “I suppose you’re right. My name is Tennison Marks, Anthony –,”

“Don’t call me that.”

“And we are currently in the Carisbrooke Castle. It’s under “renovations”, or that’s the story we’re giving the public to keep them from snooping around for the time being. Your friends won’t find you for some time.”

“But they will find me.” Tony snapped.

Tennison nodded thoughtfully, unusually calm compared to the other men who have kept Tony in a cell. “Oh yes. I do not doubt that your little team of heroes will find you within the month, at the very most. I wouldn’t be surprised if they find you in two weeks’ time. They are the Avengers, after all.”

The billionaire snarled. “What do you want from me?”

“Currently?” the man clicked his heels together. “Nothing.”

Tony didn’t believe him. “Nothing?”

“Yes, nothing.” Tennison smiled. “I have all the money I need, Anthony; I don’t need ransom money or your money. In fact, I –,”

The door clanged open for a second time. In strode two men with a body between them. The body was coherent, struggling to keep up with the pace the two guards were setting. He stumbled almost every other step, and one of his legs was bent at an odd angle. Tony gasped in alarm at the blood staining his clothes and the loose way they hung to his frame. They obviously weren’t feeding him enough. The man struggled in their hold, earning a scuff upside the head with the butt of a gun.

Tennison’s cheery demeanor vanished. He bared his teeth. “I told you not to interrupt me.”

“Sorry, sir, but he was gettin’ antsy again,” one of the guards muttered, thick Cockney accent almost comical. “The drugs ain’t doin’ much anymore, sir. Doc says he’s growin’ an immunity. He took out three of our men before we hit ‘im enough to keep ‘im on the floor. Thought it’d be better if we brought ‘im back to ‘is cell before he got fully aware again.”

Tennison rolled his eyes but stepped aside to let them open the cell next to Tony’s. The sunray passed over the guards’ faces as they chained the man up and threw him against the ground, the warm golden a stark contrast to the blackness of their hearts. The hero’s scowl deepened as the guard whacked the man on the side of the head. He groaned.

Except it wasn’t a man at all.

The prisoner looked up, blood slowly falling from his mouth.

It was a _kid_.

He couldn’t have been older than eighteen. His broad shoulders and muscled arms showed that once, when he was getting enough food, he was strong and athletic. His brown hair was a curly mess, tangled and matted with dried blood and dirt. He looked strong, despite his condition, and he grinned with a childlike enthusiasm. His eyes were bright, _over_ bright, and glowed with mirth and laughter. His skin was dirty and scarred; the scars marred his body like spilled ink. Some of the scars were days old, at most, others months, maybe years.

Oh, God, please tell me he hasn’t been here for _years_.

“Morning, Mr. Marks, sir,” the kid smiled cheerfully, bloodstained teeth making Tony’s heart clench. He was accent-less, or, he was American. That realization wasn’t comforting like he thought it would be. “How were the Alps, sir?”

What the **_hell_**? What was a _child_ doing in here?!

“Beautiful as always, boy. I see you misbehaved again.” The threat was painted in neon lights through his tone. The kid didn’t seem to care.

“Well, is it really misbehaving to try and escape if you’re the ones who kidnapped me, forced me to be your experiment, and treating me like crap? Because I feel like that’s just a human reacti – oof!”

The sudden stream of sass that Tony had immediately taking a liking to was cut short. The guard who had hit him smirked proudly as the kid coughed viciously from the blow to his stomach. He doubled over, chains rattling as he wrapped his arms around his stomach. The two men who’d dragged him in exited the cell, throwing it shut behind them to make sure the sound was as loud as possible. The boy winced, shoulders shaking as he tried to get his breathing under control.

“You know, there are better ways to get someone to stop talking. Asking nicely, for example,” he cleared his throat. It was an ugly sound. Tony wondered how often he used his voice in this place. “You know, I would have even responded to yelling. Didn’t have to hit me, man.”

Tennison’s lips curled back into a smile. “Still have quite the mouth on you, boy.”

The kid turned to the side and spat some blood on the ground. He looked back up at his captor. His grin appeared in full force, splitting his already busted lip. “Can’t beat that out of me easily, sir. I’m a little shit, I agree, but I’m a talkative little shit.”

The Brit rolled his eyes. “Don’t I know it. Well, since I was interrupted so rudely,” he glared at the guards, both of which cowered in fear. “We will have to continue our conversation at a different point in time. I apologize for… him,” he gestured to the boy.

The kid smiled wickedly, blood bright against his white teeth.

Tennison was not amused. “As soon as we have more room –,”

“As soon as I kill enough innocent people to makes some space,” The boy translated. With a look, Tennison ordered one of the guards to hit him with one of their batons. Tony winced at the yelp.

“I will have you moved to a… quieter prison,” he finished

His attention returned to Tony, eyes flashing dangerously. “Do get acquainted with your cellmate in the meantime. Don’t be surprised when he talks your ear off. You can try and threaten him to shut him up, but we haven’t figured out one that sticks yet. Figure that out and I might just let you go free. Good day, Anthony.”

“Don’t call me Anthony.” He repeated, adding as much venom as he could. The appearance of the kid only reassured his hatred for this man. He was past annoyance and irritation. This guy was dead.

Tennison hummed smugly. He turned and addressed the guards. “Give the boy twice his usual share. I need him to be more than a stick for the next round of experiments.”

Tony watched the kid pale at the term, but only slightly.

Whoever this kid was, he was strong as hell.

“And give dear Anthony as much as he likes.” Tennison’s smirk grew. “I don’t want him getting hungry. He’s our guest, after all.”

He sauntered out of the prison with an air of confidence that rivaled Tony’s. The guards followed him, and the door slammed behind them. Silence fell.

The boy let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes. His shoulders fell and he laid his head against the cold wall. A minute passed. Then he sat back up, shrugged his shoulders, and stood. Sunlight hit his face, illuminating his childish features while also adding shadows to the dark circles under his eyes and the sharp line of his jaw. He was a mix of boy and man, naivety trying desperately to hold onto its innocence while being beaten by his circumstance.

He stayed in the sunlight pouring into his cell for a long while, simply basking in its warmth. Then he stooped to move one of the rocks near his door. Tony gasped in surprise at the green plant that came into light.

“Hey, buddy.” The kid said with a soft smile.

 _Protect, protect, protect_.

“You’re looking taller.” He continued, not seeming to hear Tony. “Sorry about yesterday. I was in that room all day and couldn’t get you in the sun. Not my fault, but, you know.”

He was talking to a plant.

“Of course, I – OH MY GOSH!”

His bright brown eyes caught Tony’s amused ones. “Hey there, kid.”

The boy stumbled backward, hurt leg crumbling beneath him. He fell with a yelp, head cracking against the cobbled brick. Tony immediately jumped to his feet, rushing as far as his chains would allow to grasp the bars between them.

“Kid? You okay?”

“You – you’re Tony Stark!” he cried in reply, pushing himself back up while rubbing the back of his head. Apparently, he’d been too out of it to understand the conversation that he and his captor had been having while he had been present. He scrambled towards the man, hauling himself up to stand in front of him. “What are you – hey. I – I’m Peter.”

Introductions. He could do that.

“Tony,” he replied with a chuckle. Man, this kid had been in here for who knows how long, and he still had this kind of happiness? Maybe his captivity wouldn’t be so bad.

“What are you – what are you – what are you doing here?” Peter stumbled over his words, probably torn between excitement and nervousness. He was wringing his hands and biting his lip. Tony thought the action would have been painful, but apparently the boy didn’t mind.

“Same as you, kiddo,” The billionaire shrugged, gesturing to the cell around him.

“Oh.” The boy blinked and licked his lips. He swallowed, eyes still trained on the man.

To break the growing silence, Tony cleared his throat. “So, you know who I am.”

It was stupid. He knew that. Cut the poor man some slack.

Peter grinned innocently and his eyes widened in wonder. He struggled to fit his hand through the gap in the bars. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mister Stark. I’ve read all your journals about nanotechnology and advanced engineering. The way you used nanotech to make your suits is fascinating! And your grants to those college kids? Man, I drove my aunt up the walls with my constant nagging about that kind of opportunity. I’m not old enough yet, but I’ve wanted to work at Stark Industries since I was eight!”

Tony blinked in surprise. Man, this kid was like a firework. In this dark place, his smile was warmer than the sunlight in his cell. His eyes were alive with those colorful explosions against the night sky. It hurt even more that someone so good, so pure, had been robbed of life continuing that way. It pained him that a child with such a big grin was chained against these castle walls with only a plant and the sunlight for company.

“I haven’t met someone so young who’s read such a plethora of my material,” Tony smiled, shaking Peter’s hand. “I’m just sorry it had to happen under the circumstances.”

He snorted. “Oh, don’t worry. They won’t rough you up too badly.”

Tony’s unbelieving gaze dropped to the kid’s bloodstained clothes.

Peter waved his hand, shackles ringing loudly in the quiet atmosphere. “Oh, that’s just because I’m me.” As if that excused everything. As if that made any of this _remotely_ okay. “I’m not a cooperative kid, at least not with something like this. I don’t do well with this kind of authority. This is just recompense, I suppose.”

The billionaire could feel the rage bubbling up inside him. Peter spoke as if he’d done something wrong. The scars and wounds and broken leg were because he had fought back, he’d tried to escape, and that was _wrong_.

“Battle wounds, kid,” Tony swallowed his fury and softened his tone. “Those are battle wounds.”

Peter shrugged. “I’ve got enough to go around, that’s for sure.” His knees gave out suddenly and he grabbed the bars to steady himself. Tony tried to grab his elbows to help but his chains didn’t reach far enough. “I’m okay, it’s fine.”

Tony was about to say just how not fine it was when the door opened again, the creaking a horrible sound in the light atmosphere. Peter limped back to his position against the wall, wincing as he sat down. A guard trundled into the prison, a bucket hanging off one elbow and a bowl in his other hand.

“Christopher!” Peter called in greeting. Tony jumped. Did Peter know this guy?

“Afternoon, Pete.” The man said with an amused look towards the teenager. He stopped in front of Tony’s cell and placed the bowl at the bottom of the door where a little flap was positioned to send the bowls back and forth. “Get that bullet out yet?”

Before Tony could jump on _that_ , the kid answered cheerfully, “Yes, sir! Last Tuesday. Just had to wait for my fingernails to be long enough. Cut it open with one of those glass pieces and then pulled it out. It wasn’t too bad.”

Tony wanted to vomit. No way was he actually eating whatever Kristof was pouring into his bowl. The image of this pure child, this baby, cutting himself open to pull out a bullet _that was shot into him_ with a piece of glass and scooping it out with his own fingers made him tremble. He grasped the wall to his right, turning away to try and quell his shaking. How. How could these bastards look at this kid and do this to him? How could they see Peter, all big smiles and bright eyes, and decide to treat him like a science experiment? Like some mutated frog or something?

How quickly he’d attached himself to this kid. Peter had a pull to him, a gravity that Tony just couldn’t resist.

“I remember the first time you got shot in here,” the guard tapped his chin in thought as he poured the food into Peter’s bowl – the one that looked centuries old. Of course. Tony had to use every inch of willpower now to rush over and throttle him. “You have quite the pair of lungs, kiddo.”

Peter snorted. “Yeah. Pretty sure they just like hearing me scream sometimes.”

“Well, until you stopped screaming.” Kristof nodded. “Parker was so mad when you just shut up that he threw his newest batch of explosive acid at the wall. Blew up the entire row of his latest experiments.”

And then the kid laughed, and the sun was pitch black in comparison.

It was a clear sound – the kind that cuts through large crowds like melted butter. It wasn’t high, but a mid-range pitch, light and airy. It sounded like what Tony thought a delighted fairy would sound – cheerful and innocent and free. It suited Peter perfectly.

Tony knew at that exact moment that this kid was coming with him. No matter what, no matter if Tony had to kill everyone in his way to get them out of here, Peter was coming back with him. He was going to help him and keep him safe. He was going to take him _home_.

“Sounds like him,” Peter nodded.

“So, Kristof, do you usually enjoy tormenting children, or is this just a weekend job for you?” Tony spat out, not touching his food.

The man turned away from the gleeful kid, leveling the billionaire with a glare. “It’s Christopher.”

“I don’t care.” He scowled, hoping the hatred he felt was overflowing from his gaze. “What kind of sick _fuck_ jokes around about a kid operating on himself with a piece of glass to get a bullet out of his own body? How can you look at him in the eye after what you’ve done? You’re a -,”

“Not everyone is rolling in the money that their daddies left them, Stark,” it was Christopher’s turn to snarl. Darkness settled over his eyes, any amusement disappearing with the coming of storm clouds. “Providing for my family is my priority.”

“And you’ll just torture a kid to do it.”

Peter made a noise like he was going to interject.

Christopher beat him to it. “Like you’ve got a moral compass. Don’t bullshit me, Stark.” He threw Peter’s bowl back on the ground. The contents sloshed out and hit the little green plant growing in the corner of his cell, and the kid cried out in protest.

“No!” he scrambled across the cage and tried to wipe the porridge off the trembling leaves. Tony felt guilt fill his stomach. Whatever life had been growing in that corner was now doused by his anger.

The guard scoffed, grabbing his ladle and whacking it across Peter’s head. The kid didn’t so much as flinch. “Besides, there isn’t much of a human in there anymore, see? No crying out, no screaming. Just takes his beatings like a dead man. He’s good for a few laughs, but what else?”

What else? What _else_? Peter was a _kid_. He had a whole life ahead of him full of opportunities and experiences that shouldn’t be taken from him, least of all by these monsters. He had a future of dating and marriage, kids and a dream career, of growing old with the person he loved most. What right did these bastards have to take that from him?

“So much,” Tony swore. “He’s worth so much more than that.”

“How would you know, Stark,” Christopher laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know anything about him.”

He wanted to say, ‘just look at him’, but he honestly didn’t want this brute laying eyes on the kid for another second. Instead, he narrowed his gaze in challenge. Christopher scoffed again and rolled his eyes. He hit the bars of Peter’s cell for good measure then turned and stomped out, slamming the door behind him.

Tony glared at the door, hoping that the guard could feel his fury through the steel barrier.

Peter coughed. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He blinked. “Peter, he hit you without batting an eyelash.”

The kid looked at him for a moment. It seemed he was going to say something prominent then changed his mind at the last second. “It’s no big deal.”

Tony swallowed, deciding to tackle that at a different time. “I’m sorry about your plant.”

Those big brown eyes lowered to the little shrub, which was already wilting from whatever was in that broth. “He wasn’t going to make it long anyway. Nothing does in this place.”

“You have.”

Peter’s imploring gaze rose. But with his broken eyes came a small smile and he muttered, “Shockingly.”

Tony crossed to the door of his cell and grabbed his bowl. He eyed the contents warily, frown overtaking the fond smile that had appeared with Peter’s.

“It’s not bad, actually.” The kid assured. “Sometimes they put sleeping pills in it though, to keep me quiet. I don’t think they’d do it to you right off the bat but can’t be too careful.”

Sleeping pills. To keep him quiet.

Jesus.

Tony shook his head at the last part and latched onto the good news. “At least the chef is a half-decent creature.”

Peter huffed, picking up his own bowl and sitting directly in the ray of sun. “Most of them are half decent, Mister Stark.”

“Kid, I don’t know when the last time was that you saw a mirror, but if you could see what I see, you’d know that the people doing this to you don’t deserve your mercy.” He growled in answer, gripping his bowl tightly so he didn’t punch the wall beside him.

“They all have reasons, Mister Stark. It’s not right, but sometimes people get desperate, especially when people they love need help. Yeah, I’d rather it not mean… this,” Peter gestured around their prison. “Something can be wrong, but you can still understand why they did what they did. Just because someone has made bad choices doesn’t mean they’re a bad person.”

Tony tilted his head slightly. As the weight of such words hit him, he laughed lightly. “You know, kiddo, you’re something else.”

Peter grinned. “Thanks, Mister Stark. I think.”

The hero settled down so that he could talk to Peter and swirled his wooden spoon around his bowl. It didn’t smell bad, which was good. He blew on the broth and took a bite. Hot, but he supposed that was worse than cold food. Surprisingly, it was edible. In fact, it was actually agreeable. Tony hummed in pleasant shock and took a few more bites before continuing the conversation.

“Tell me about yourself, Pete.”

The boy’s head raised from where he’d been scarfing down his food. Tony cringed inwardly. The kid must be starving. He could see his ribs through the holes in his ragged shirt. “Um, I’m seventeen years old -,”

Oh my god, he was baby. A _baby_.

“- and, um…”

The billionaire clicked his tongue when the teenager didn’t continue. Poor kid. He was so out of conversational practice. “What’s your favorite subject in school?”

Stupid. Stupid question. Peter probably didn’t even like school. He was a teenager.

But the kid surprised him and shrugged his shoulders. “I really like science.”

Tony waited for him to continue, taking a few more slow bites to relish the food. When silence followed the answer, he glanced up from his bowl to see if the kid had spaced out or something. When he met those brown eyes, already looking towards him, he nodded encouragingly.

Peter immediately brightened with life and plowed on at Quicksilver speeds.

“I’ve always wanted to study engineering and biochemical science in college,” He began to ramble, smile growing on his face as he moved his hands animatedly. “I’ve always been ahead of everyone else in my class, right? Which is saying a lot, since I go to Midtown. I’m a cat person but I also really want a dog. My middle name is Benjamin, after my uncle. I’ve read _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ eleven times and my favorite character is Harry, which surprises a ton of people, since he can kind of be a brat, but if I had part of the Dark Lord’s soul inside me I don’t think I’d be chipper all the time either.”

With each new fact, however insignificant it may have seemed, Tony fell more and more in love with this boy. His youthful eyes, so invested in finally having someone to talk to, captured the hero’s heart in a way that he had never felt before.

“And he has the whole weight of the wizarding world on his shoulders, had it since he was eleven, and he never gets a break. Most people think he’s a jerk because of the fifth book, but Dumbledore never helps him, you know? He actively avoids Harry when he needs help the most! And Harry loses so many people. His parents, his mentors, his godfather, so many of his friends and -,”

The light died suddenly, like flipping off a switch. His head fell, bright gaze becoming unsettlingly dull. Tony immediately missed the warmth. “Sorry, sorry. Sorry, I’m talking too much.”

_Don’t be surprised when he talks your ear off. You can try and threaten him to shut him up, but we haven’t figured out one that sticks yet._

Tony swallowed. “I don’t mind.”

Peter looked at him in disbelief, but Tony saw thanks there too.

“I just think he’s a hero.” He went on softly, using his spoon to swirl the contents of his bowl. “Not just ‘the’ hero, but he’s a good person. He has every right to hate the world and desert the people who honestly don’t deserve his saving, but he doesn’t. Someone capable of that kind of forgiveness… that love? That’s pretty special.”

The billionaire stared at him. For some reason, even though Peter hadn’t told him yet, he knew that Peter was a lot like Harry. He knew that despite awful circumstances, despite loss, that he was still good. Broken, maybe, with pieces missing. A little lost and a lot loyal. But good.

Yeah, still good.

Peter grinned sheepishly. “You probably didn’t mean for me to ramble about Harry Potter.”

Tony shrugged. “It’s a pretty darn good series. I understand why you like it so much.”

He gasped. “The great Tony Stark reads Harry Potter?”

The man laughed. “He sure does.”

Peter’s smile softened. “That’s pretty cool, Mister Stark.”

“Tony.” He ordered fondly.

His eyes glinted. “Mister Stark.”

Oh, the sass had returned. Tony swore to guard that cheek, that snark, that goodness and innocence that he still had left. He would. “Eat your food, Hufflepuff.”

“How did you know?” Peter’s jaw dropped.

“Because there is literally no way you aren’t one.”

The kid rolled his eyes playfully but did as he was told.

Tony studied him for a moment. Each second that he looked only cemented the feeling of protectiveness. Each scar and wound that this child bore was a mark he wished to wash away. Each bad memory and torture something he wished to cure. Each freckle and smile another recurrence that there was goodness left in him, and that goodness was well worth fighting for.

“Hey, Peter?”

“Hmm?” he smiled.

“Harry’s my favorite character too.”

. . .

When Tony woke up, he was horribly reminded of where he was. Groaning, he pushed himself up from where he was slumped against the wall and ignored the aching of his back. The taste of his dinner had turned foul in his mouth, and he licked his chapped lips, ignoring the ache in his stomach from lack of water. Across from him lay Peter Parker, who was curled up in the fading light of the silvery moon, feet curved under his knees in a position that reminded Tony of a child.

‘And wasn’t he?’ His mind supplied. ‘He’s seventeen.’

The dark lashes against Peter’s fair skin was a stark contrast. The shadows under his cheekbones, the bags around his eyes – these all showed the horrible reality of his innocence being torn from his young hands.

 _Seventeen_.

It had been more than five hours. Cap and Rhodes were late.

Peter shifted in his sleep.

Too late.

As Tony studied the kid (kid, kid, kid, child, _baby_ ) he swallowed his guilt, however misplaced the boy would have said it was. Where had he been, while Peter was being tortured? Where had his hero been while he had screamed on a table, strapped down and helpless? Where had Iron Man been while Peter had been chained to a cold stone wall with only the sun and moonlight as company?

Where was he when all hell was being let loose on this child, and he was forced to struggle again to his feet for another round?

While Tony played the blame game with only himself as a participant, Peter slowly woke to the rising sun. He could have compared his awakening to that of a small kitten. His mouth opened in a small yawn, face scrunching (adorably) as his legs stretched, toes pointing as his body adjusted to a state of consciousness. He rolled his shoulders as he pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing his hands into his eyes. As soon as they opened, his exhausted gaze met Tony’s and he jumped.

“Mister Stark!”

The man chuckled. “Wow, kid. Observant as ever I see.”

“I thought you were a dream!”

Tony chuckled despite the sad subtext of such a confession. “No luck, kid. You’re stuck with me.”

Peter giggled, but the joyful sounds quickly turned into coughing, and the boy hunched over hacking his lungs out for far longer than Tony thought was healthy (which would have sounded funny if the boy wasn’t already so _un_ healthy). “Sorry.”

Tony cringed at the kid’s frail voice. “That hurts me just listening, kiddo. How you feeling?”

Peter smiled, worming deeper into Tony’s heart. “I’ve had worse.”

“Not the answer I’d like, but I’ll let it slide.” The inventor pushed himself to his feet and stretched. His back ached and his knees wobbled, but he managed to stay upright. “Here’s some advice, kid: don’t get old.”

The seventeen-year-old laughed sweetly, the sound angels wished they could achieve and crossed his legs like a child. “Fat chance of that, Mister Stark. Have you noticed the situation I’m in? I’ll be lucky if I make it to eighteen at the rate I’m going.”

Tony cringed at the dark humor. “Don’t say that.”

Peter hummed, eyes taking on a sorrowful sheen. “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. They’ve gotten a lot worse in the past few months. They didn’t always use to be so cruel. Guess they’re getting tired of me.”

The billionaire was about to question how anyone could possibly get tired of this ray of sunshine when another, more important inquiry surfaced. “How long have they… hurt you?”

Tortured seemed too dark a word. It was true, that’s exactly what they were doing, but somehow Tony couldn’t equate such a word, a word he understood better than most, with this child. It didn’t compute in his brain.

Peter seemed to understand and smiled sadly. “I’ve been here for about a year and a half.”

Tony gaped. “Were – were you one of the people who…”

Was snapped? Dusted? Died?

The kid smiled. “Yeah, but this was right after I came back. I was on a field trip with my classmates to Europe, a kind of cool thing to celebrate finishing the school year. I ended up not leaving England.”

“Why did they take you?”

The kid’s cheeks dusted with red. “It’s a long story.”

Tony would learn what that meant someday, he would make sure of it. But it seemed like something too deep to delve into two days into their friendly acquaintanceship.

“Where’s your family? Haven’t they been looking for you?”

Peter’s eyes turned sad. “I don’t have any more family. My aunt died during the snap. She was having a surgery done when Thanos, you know, and all three of the doctors disappeared. She ended up dying because of it. The money she left me was enough to go on that Europe trip, and after that, I was going to go into the foster system or something. Get a job.”

Tony frowned. “What about your parents?”

Peter’s smile returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “My parents died in a plane crash when I was four. Well, my mom…” he shook his head, thinking better of himself than continuing that thought. “My uncle Ben was my dad’s brother, and he and my Aunt May took me in. But he died when I was fourteen. It was just May and I… now it’s just me.”

Tony stared for several long moments, mouth slightly agape.

How on earth was this kid still _alive_? If Tony had gone through half this shit this kid had, he would have offed himself. His parents had been killed, yeah, but he had been an adult then. He had already moved out of the house. He was off doing his own idiotic things and yeah, it hurt, it still hurt, but he couldn’t imagine being a child, a little kid, and hearing those words – attending that funeral. He’d been switched to new guardians, and then down the line, he’d lost both of them too. He’d been Dusted and he’d come back to a world that had moved on without him, his aunt died, his only family gone forever and he was… alone.

Tony would have killed himself.

How had this kid not done it?

“I tried,” his small voice echoed in the silence between the stone. “Once.”

The billionaire looked up, suddenly noticing the unshed tears in his own eyes. At the wide-eyed expression, Peter chuckled wetly.

“It was about two weeks after they’d taken me,” he explained. “I used some of the glass from the window and tried to … it didn’t work.”

The morbid question formed before Tony could stop it. “Why?”

Peter looked away. “They healed me.”

“Why?”

“They need me,” he swallowed. “For experiments.”

Tony licked his dry lips in hesitation, answers clicking away in his brain. “Are you…?”

“A freak?” Peter snorted dryly. “Yeah.”

“No, no,” The hero shook his head, appalled that the boy thought that he would ever call him that. “No, not a freak. Enhanced. Are you enhanced?”

Peter looked back up at him, expression forlorn. “Yeah.”

“Did they make you like that?” Tony’s anger rose again. If these bastards had taken an innocent kid, turned him enhanced just to experiment on him, and kept him locked up in this old ruin for a year and a half, he was going to go insane. He was going to kill someone.

He was probably going to end up doing that anyway.

The seventeen-year-old chuckled. “Nah, I’ve been like this since I was fourteen. I kinda asked for it. Went where I shouldn’t’ve.”

Tony narrowed his eyes, “What can you do?”

Peter suddenly became twitchy, looking anywhere but him. “Um-,”

\The prison door swung open with a loud _clang_. In walked two men, neither of which he had seen the day before. One wore a lab coat. Tony gritted his teeth and rolled his shoulders. He wished he could protect Peter, but there were bars between them and Tony was helpless.

“Wakey, wakey, Spider.” One of them said.

“I’m awake, you dunce.” Peter snapped. Tony blinked in surprise. After how the boy had treated his captors yesterday, he was surprised at the snark and bite that had appeared. Perhaps these men had no warrant, no reason for tormenting a kid so he didn’t see a reason in being polite. “You’d know that if you used your eyes.”

“Don’t get sassy with me, you webby bastard,” the guard snarled, slammed a hand against the bars of his cage. “You know what happens if you get sassy with me; straight to Beck with you, boy.”

The threat did not change Peter’s defiant resolve. In fact, it looked like it strengthened it as he dragged his hard-resolute gaze to the lab-coated man. “Oh, and he’ll do what? Cut me open and drug me like he always does? I think he’s getting bored, _Parker_.”

The man seized the end of Peter’s chains and yanked it. The boy’s weak body was sent crashing into bars with a groaned yelp that harmonized oddly with Tony’s shout of protest. The boy coughed and struggled to his elbows. The guard, Parker, took out his baton and cracked it across Peter’s head. The boy jerked, falling back onto his stomach. Blood dripped out of his mouth; he must have busted his lip when he hit the bars.

“Don’t call me that, you filth,” Parker snarled so venomously that Tony was surprised when he didn’t see green acid coming out of his mouth.

“Why?” the kid croaked. “Cause you don’t want to be associated with a monster like me? Is that why? Or is it because your precious experiment was wasted on a kid like me? And not a soldier like Rogers?”

The man grabbed Peter’s shirt and lifted him off the floor. “You are _weak_.”

The boy scoffed.

“Just like your mother.”

Peter narrowed his eyes.

“Let him go,” Tony finally found his voice. He didn’t know what their history was, but he knew that he didn’t want that man anywhere near the kid.

“Oh, I see you’ve met our new friend.” The man smirked, dropped the child to the floor. “Why don’t you introduce us, Spider?”

Peter coughed again, wiping the blood from his lips as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. “Mister Stark, meet Richard Parker.”

He spat the name, angry and hurt and betrayed all at once.

“My father.”

Tony froze. “What?”

“You heard him right, Stark.” The man took Peter’s chin in his hand and jerked his face to and fro. “This little abomination is my son. Look. Wouldn’t you be ashamed? My precious creation wasted on _that_.”

Ashamed? How on earth could Tony be ashamed of Peter?

“You see, Stark,” he spat the name, so vehemently. Tony wondered what he’d done to garner such hatred. “I had created a masterpiece of scientific craftsmanship. A multitude of spiders, you understand. They were enhanced, but they hadn’t been perfected yet. We – Norman and I – were going to make an army with them, an army of enhanced soldiers. Like your dear Captain, I suppose.”

The man grinned wickedly, slowly turning Peter’s chin back and forth. “But then Petey here-,” a harsh jerk. The kid didn’t flinch. “Got in and got bitten by one. Isn’t that right, little Petey-pie?”

It was so condescending. Howard had been bad, Tony would be the first to admit that. He had been awful and abusive and uncaring towards his son, but this was a whole new term for abusive. Peter’s father, this kid’s _dad_ , was imprisoning and torturing his own son.

“And, of course, when the spider escaped, SHIELD came for Norman and me, and, well, everything shut down. Norman, bless his soul, died months later while trying experiments on himself. I, however, survived.”

Tony’s eyes drifted towards the said kid.

How could anyone do that to him? To _Peter_?

_"My parents died in a plane crash when I was four.”_

He bristled. “How did you survive the plane crash?”

Richard chuckled, releasing Peter’s chin. Tony counted it as a victory. Anything to get that man’s hands off the kid. “Ah, I see it’s been telling its tragic backstory.”

It. that. Its.

All dehumanizing pronouns. If Richard had been talking about his own son like that for a year and a half…

His eyes bore into Peter’s skull as the boy hung his head, lids low in exhaustion.

_I’m going to save you, kid._

“It’s quite easy to jump from a crashing plane, isn’t it Stark? Why, you fly around in a red and gold tin can. Surely saving myself from a plane isn’t that absurd.” Upon seeing Tony’s heated glare, he waved a careless hand. “Oh, his mother? Well, she didn’t agree with my idea of our future. I didn’t intend on leaving her behind, don’t look at me as if I’m a monster. But, things didn’t go as planned. So, I jumped.”

His gaze lowered to his son’s curly hair. “She didn’t. Of course, being the well-meaning woman that she was, she probably wouldn’t have gone along with all of my plans anyway, so not too much of a waste.”

Richard chuckled, wringing his hands. “Now, Stark, I have a proposition for you. The round of experiments today is rather… intense. If you come with me and give your assistance, Tennison has agreed to set you free.”

Tony was so filled with rage that he was going to explode. Did he really think – the audacity – the _insanity_ of this man! “How _dare_ you-,”

“Has it told you that my brother is dead because of it?” Richard hissed. “This thing could have saved him. He had the enhancement.”

For the first time since his father had entered the room, the boy’s confidence and defiance wavered. Immediately, Tony wanted to comfort Peter. He didn’t care how this bastard twisted the truth; he would never believe that it was the kid’s fault that his uncle was dead.

“And he sat there while my brother bled out on the street,” Richard snatched Peter’s curls and yanked his head up so that they were staring into each other’s eyes. “He did _nothing_.”

A tear slipped down Peter’s cheek.

Tony wanted to kill that man. He would. He swore it to himself and to Peter. He’d kill him.

_I’m going to save you, kid._

_I promise._

“When I discovered that it was my son that had become enhanced, that had become a _hero_ of all things, well, I knew that I had to put it down.” He waved his hand, releasing his son. Peter slumped down, the single tear shining against his grimy skin. “But, things get in the way – you, Mister Stark. A building fell on top of it, and I didn’t want it until it was back at peak condition. Then you were monitoring it, then Thanos and I found that it had died. Then it came back and-,”

“He,” Tony bit down so viscerally that he felt blood pool from inside his cheek. “Peter is a he, not an it. How can you treat him like that?”

But then something clicked.

A hero of all things.

Tony blinked. “You’re Spiderman.”

Peter’s lips twitched, but he didn’t reply.

“Ridiculous name. Wasted talents and skills on civilians, on alien weaponry and you, Stark. He decided to save people, humans. Treated them as equals, as friends, got their cats from trees and stopped them from being hit by cars. It helped you defeat Thanos, did it not?” Richard scoffed harshly. “As if it could ever be considered human. Finally, it walked right into my clutches.”

Peter swallowed.

“No breakfast for the Spider. Take it to room seven. I want Beck to use the Ammonium Chloride I brought on Tuesday. I want to see how long it can withstand the cold.” The father – he had not earned that title – turned and walked away without throwing his son a second glance. “Tennison wants Stark fed, Wilson. See to it. And be quick about it. Wouldn’t want the Spider to spoil, now would we?”

Richard disappeared out the door just as Wilson reached for Peter.

“Hey, leave the kid alone,” Tony leaped forward, grabbing the bars between him and the guard. “Hey, you hear me? That kid is innocent! Let him go!”

“It’s okay, Mister Stark,” Peter whispered.

“Okay my ass,” he seethed. Rage boiled over inside him. He wanted to scream at the injustice, the insanity of this entire situation. This was ridiculous. These kinds of things didn’t happen in the real world. Fathers didn’t experiment on their sons, didn’t cage them up and use them as toys, didn’t torture them until they didn’t see themselves as anything but an ‘it’. “This is the farthest thing from okay I’ve ever seen and I fought a purple-ball-sacked-faced alien who destroyed half the earth’s population.”

So did Peter.

So had Peter.

Oh my God, Peter was Spiderman.

“A-and this is wrong, kiddo, you know that, right? So wrong.” Wilson unlocked the chains around the boy’s wrists and began to drag him away. “No, no, hey, listen to me! Let him go! LET HIM GO!”

The seventeen-year-old (God, he was a baby. How could they do this to a _baby_ ) struggled with what little strength he had to spare, but he had no chance against a man of Wilson’s stature. The guard knocked him over the head to settle him, and Peter coughed. Tony ignored the red stains on his teeth as the boy struggled for a smile.

“It’s alright, Mister Stark,” the kid whispered reassuringly. “I’ll be alright.”

“Peter, hey, kid, I’m gonna get us out of this, you hear me? I promise, Peter!”

The kid smiled, but Tony knew he didn’t believe him.

Why would he? Peter had been in that place for a year and a half, and no one had searched for him. He had been tortured and dehumanized for eighteen months, degraded and tormented for hours at a time by a man that should have loved him more than anything else in the entire world. Peter had been abandoned by everyone, had been left in this dingy cell alone and unaided, helpless to watch the sun rise on each new day of pain and isolation.

No one had saved Peter then. Why would Tony save him now?

Tears pricked his eyes as Peter’s big brown gaze disappeared beyond the tower door.

“I promise you, Peter,” he whispered into the silence.

“I promise.”

. . . 

Hours must have passed, because when Peter was thrown back in his cell, the sun had just set. He was shivering and coughing up a storm, body quivering with each expulsion. His skin was pale and tinged blue.

The guard filled Tony’s bowl with food, steaming and hot, then turned and left, the door slamming shut behind him.

Peter got nothing.

Tony moved over to share his dinner, but Peter’s hoarse voice stopped him. “You can’t. They’ll punish us if you try.”

Tony wanted to scream at the unlawful insanity of this entire situation. The poor kid had been tortured the entirety of the day and at the end of it all, they wouldn’t even let him eat?

\Swallowing, the hero nodded slowly and ate his meal. He wasn’t sure what to say. Thousands of apologies, questions, fatherly scolding he didn’t feel the right to say ricocheted off the walls of his brain so rapidly he got a headache. He had basically kidnapped a child, manipulated him into fighting super soldiers in an airport, then ignored him for months until the Vulture Incident, and finally, he decided that this man (kid, kid, kid) should have a little bit of guidance. Then Spiderman got zapped up from his filed trip to MoMA – how the hell did he not pick up on that – and then he _died_ …

Of course, all that is on top of all that he was an orphan, had no family and was being tortured by his father who he thought had died. For a year and a half.

What was he supposed to say?

_Come on, Stark. You’re Mister Charismatic who can wow a press conference in three seconds. Think of something._

“Thanks for coming to Germany with me.”

_You are an idiot._

However, the kid didn’t seem to care that Tony was unable to function as a decent human being. Peter cracked a smile.

“It was my pleasure, Mister Stark.”

. . .

The next day, when Peter returned covered in black burns on his hands, Tony couldn’t help but think of Titan and the dust that this boy – a hero that Tony had believed then to be an adult, a man – had become, begging and pleading to be rescued. How had he not realized?

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Peter’s haunted eyes glazed over with sad acceptance.

“It’s not your fault, Mister Stark.”

. . .

Peter’s chains allowed him to get right up next to the bars between his and Tony’s cells. Tony didn’t have chains and would settle down right beside the boy. The first few nights he did it, Tony simply fell asleep to the sound of Peter’s breathing. However, when Peter came back from a particularly harsh round of experiments, Tony couldn’t help but run his fingers through the boy’s curls to calm him.

It ended up calming them both.

It was the same every night thereafter.

It was small, Tony knew that, but it was one of the few touches that Peter received that wasn’t meant for harm. Any small act that could remind Peter than he was human was worth it to Tony.

To both of them.

. . .

“You ever tried to escape?”

Peter chuckled. “Yeah. Lots of times I end up back here, brink of death. Though, twice Tennison was so impressed he let me have extra dinner and no experiments the next day.”

“Wow, kiddo, living the luxurious life, huh?” it was astounding how quickly they’d fallen into a comfortable companionship.

“There was a guard who helped me once,” Peter’s smile dropped with his volume. “But he had to leave. They never found out he helped me. I was hoping…”

He trailed off and shook his head. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to hitch a ride with you when Captain America comes to bust you out, huh?”

Tony’s heart jumped. _Oh, kid, if you knew just how much I wished for that_. “Yeah, I guess I’ll let you come along. Only one stowaway allowed, though, you hear me? No weird mutated turtles or rats or something.”

Peter laughed again, and for a moment the cold cell felt warm.

. . .

“I never thanked you.”

Peter glanced up from his lunch. It was rare for the boy to be present during Tony’s lunch time, but the torture had only lasted the morning that day. The bruises around his eyes from the day prior made him look even more like a skeleton in the afternoon light.

Tony had been in this hellhole for two weeks.

Cap and Rhodey were _late_.

“For what?” the kid asked with a soft smile.

Tony gawked at how the kid could still do that, after everything. “F-for the Vulture incident.”

His smile wavered and he chuckled nervously. “Well, I kind of had to make up for… the ferry and everything.”

Oh God.

Tony hadn’t thought about the Ferry.

“Man did I mess up there.” Peter sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. The expression tugged at Tony’s heart in a way he’d never felt before. “I mean, I’ve messed up before, trust me, but _dang_.”

It would have been funny. It should have been funny.

But Tony hadn’t thought about the fact that he’d taken away this kid’s suit.

“I took your suit.”

Peter shrugged his shoulders, taking another nonchalant sip of his broth. “I deserved it.”

“No, you – god _dammit_ Peter!”

The kid jumped into the air like a frog, bowl of soup forgotten and spilling all over the cell floor. His body, already scarred from his earlier torture, slammed into the bars behind him. A yelp escaped his red throat, pained and small and scratchy. He stumbled, feet tangling between one another and he fell. His skull banged against the metal rods and he crumpled.

Guilt coursed through every single one of Tony’s veins as the kid froze, head bowed and breathing labored, expecting a punch. The only parts of him that visibly moved were his middle and ring finger of his right hand, which shook like grass in the breeze. He had done that. This kid was shouted at all the time, and each raised voice, each angry tone was followed by pain. This kid – he was a kid, God, what had Tony done – had been living in constant pain and fear for a year and a half, every mishap ended in a new bruise, more blood staining his skin.

Finally, he had someone who didn’t hurt him every single time they saw him. Someone he could trust.

And Tony broke that.

"Kid, Pete-,”

“I did deserve it.” Peter’s voice was low and hoarse. He took a long, deep breath, as if he was taking all his anxieties and pain and sucking it in all at once. “I deserved to have that suit taken. I disobeyed you and I almost killed a lot of people.”

_What if somebody had died tonight? Different story, right?_

“And I should have been more responsible.” He shrugged sadly, lifting his hand to rub the back of his head. Tony’s gut twisted. “After all, with great power comes great responsibility.”

“Wise words.” The inventor’s voice cracked. Why couldn’t he come up with something comforting? Why couldn’t he apologize?

Because he was an awful person. Oh yeah.

Peter’s smile was so sad. “My uncle told me that.”

_Cause that’s on you._

“I’m sorry,” Tony finally managed through a tightened throat. “You should never have had to fight Toomes in that thing. That beach was on fire when Happy got there and you landed a plane in that thing – it wasn’t even wind-resistant, shit, you probably got burned like you were being executed by the stake good _God_ -,”

“Let’s not forget about the warehouse,” Peter’s voice was way too bright for this conversation. He chuckled weakly and crawled back to his bowl, beginning to try and salvage his dirtied lunch.

]Tony’s brows furrowed, confusion written across his face. “What?”

Peter's smile faded into a frown. “You know, the warehouse falling on me?”

The billionaire had seen a lot in his life. He’d heard a lot, experienced a lot. Hell, he’d been kidnapped, tortured, flew a nuke into a wormhole, fought a ball sack-faced alien, and took five years getting the world back into focus. But the idea of Peter Parker, sunshine extraordinaire, laying under tons of concrete rubble with no suit and no help made him vomit.

It was shocking, to have such a reaction to a kid he’d met just weeks ago. But the overwhelming wrongness of this child’s life hit him like a wrecking ball, toppling his already wavering stability and causing him to fall straight into emotional destroyed territory. This kid had been through Hell, had lived through Hell for the past seventeen years of his life, and still smiled. Still cared. Still looked at his captors with mercy and forgiveness and kindness that he shouldn’t have logically possessed but he did. He did and it made him precious and gentle and the greatest kid – person that Tony had ever met. They’d known each other for all of fourteen days and Tony had never felt this kind of connection with anyone in his entire life.

He wondered if his mom was watching over him, if she’d sent Peter to remind Tony what goodness really looked like.

What a way to get Tony’s attention.

“Mister Stark? Are you okay?”

God, that just made his heart hurt _more_.

“Mister Stark?!”

“I’m alright, kiddo, calm down.” Tony waved a hand in a settling gesture as he pushed himself off his elbows where he’d been chucking up his lunch and back into a sitting position. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and swallowed back the rising bile that tried to escape upon seeing Peter’s worried expression.

Perhaps he wasn’t the only one who’d gotten attached.

“A building fell on you?” the billionaire croaked.

Peter blinked several times, looking over Tony in concern before stuttering back, “Y-yeah.”

“How did you get out?”

“I lifted it.” like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like it happened all the time.

“Lifted- _Jesus_.”

In true teenager fashion, Peter just grinned. “Hey, I’m stronger than I look.”

Tony thought of Peter hoisting a literal warehouse off his shoulders. Of Peter struggling to get the gauntlet off Thanos’s arm. Of Peter holding the ferry together. Of Peter watching as his parents were lowered, as his uncle was lowered. Of Peter discovering his aunt’s death. Of Peter dying and coming back. Of Peter staring down his father, of Peter retaining purity in this hellhole.

Tony thought of Peter being a hero despite all that.

“Why?”

It seemed like the only question that mattered, really. The kid seemed to understand the hundreds of other inquiries that lay underneath it. His wide smile softened and he gazed at Tony with eyes of someone who was centuries old, had lived through war. And hadn’t Peter?

“Well, I’ve looked up to Iron Man since I was tiny. Just seemed right to become a hero. He’d done the same thing after all the shit, right? Sounded like a good idea at the time.”

_I just wanted to be like you._

“Oh, Peter,” Tony breathed, all wet and emotional and how had this kid gotten the stone-cold Tony Stark to this point so quickly?

_And I wanted you to be better._

“You’re so much better than me.”

Peter blinked in surprise.

“I mean it.”

Blush darkened the teenager’s cheeks. “Yeah, well, you’re not bad yourself, Mister Stark.”

And for some reason, that cheeky phrase in the middle of a prison cell sounded truer than any other praise that Tony had ever received.

…

Tony’s life became two parts: Peter’s presence and Peter’s absence. Whenever they took Peter away, he was filled with stress, worry, terror at times, and a rage enough to power a thousand arc reactors. Each sound carried new meaning – was that buzz a shocker? Was that screech really just a bird? Was that slammed door keeping Peter in a world of darkness? He was useless during these times, and his mind was too full of anxiety to work on an escape plan.

He became good at guessing which torture methods the bastards were using depending on how Peter entered his cell after they were over. Jumpiness usually meant electrocution or hallucinations. Scratching at his wrists and legs usually meant bloodletting and slicing him open to see how long it took for him to heal. Drowsiness meant drug testing. Bruises meant beating. Covered in water meant waterboarding.

The list went on.

Tony wanted to kill the guards every time they brought the boy back. He wanted to break the bars between them and ring their necks, watch them bleed. He wanted to find Richard and skin him alive, make _him_ breathe underwater, taser _him_ until his joints locked and _his_ lungs gave out.

But he couldn’t. He was stuck here, same as Peter.

It was a day of electrocution that Tony met Nickolas. He’d been in that cell for twenty – five days.

“Nickolas,” Peter grinned, throwing his hands up in the air in greeting. The chains rattled. “Long time no see! How’s the honey?”

Peter knew the names of every guard in the facility, but this was one that Tony hadn’t heard before. He lifted his gaze from his dirty fingernails to look at the newcomer. This guard was ginger, with a neatly trimmed beard and surprisingly kind green eyes. He had the build of a soldier, but he carried no weapon, unlike all the other guards. There were two blankets thrown over his shoulder and a bowl of food in his hand.

Something was different about him. Something that gave Tony hope.

“Good, good,” Nickolas smiled. “Her and the babies are all healthy.”

“Twins, right?” Peter asked brightly, stumbling to his feet and walking towards the guard. He rarely willingly approached one of his captors. This must have been one of those “there are good reasons behind my torturing a child” guards. Tony’s initial liking turned sour.

The red-haired man laughed, handing Peter his bowl. “Yeah, they’re a handful. But I love ‘em.”

Peter grinned. “How’s Ruby?”

“Bigger every day,” he stooped to grab Tony’s bowl. “Hello, Mister Stark. Pleasure to meet you.”

He raised a brow in greeting.

“Nickolas is a genius,” Peter praised, taking a bite of his dinner. “Engineering degree at University of Cambridge.”

“Is that so?” Tony kept his growl under wraps for now.

“Yes sir,” the man nodded, setting the bowl back down. He placed one of the blankets on the bars of Tony’s cell and gave the second blanket to Peter, who accepted it with a thankful nod. “Top of my class and all. But that was a while ago, sir.”

“So what do you do for Richard, hmm? Create beautiful little bombs to torture Peter with? Or do you design the torture machines themselves?”

“Mister Stark!” Peter looked aghast. “Don’t-,”

Tony’s rage boiled over. This man had a wife and children. He had kids. Peter was a _kid_. “Is there some divine intervention happening with this whole place that I don’t know about? Is God telling you to harm innocent children or are you just a psychopath? Because I’ve been trying to figure this whole damn thing out for the past three weeks and I still can’t seem to find a single fucking reason why anyone in their right minds could reconcile hurting PETER FUCKING PARKER!”

“Mister Stark, Nickolas is trying to help me escape!”

Tony choked on his next round of righteously furious accusations. “Pardon?”

Nickolas nodded once to Peter.

Peter’s voice dropped to almost inaudible. “Nickolas isn’t like the others. He’s here to help me – and you, probably. Remember when I told you that one of the guards tried to help me get out of here? That’s him!”

And the hope returned in full force. “You can help us get out?”

The other man shrugged. “I can try. I’ve wired the cameras. We have about two minutes to discuss a plan before they fix themselves.”

“So are your children and wife a code for something?” Tony narrowed his eyes.

“No, no, my wife’s name is Belladonna and she just gave birth to our fifth and sixth children.” Nickolas threw a smile to Peter, who returned it with just as much enthusiasm. “Ruby, however, is a code name. It just so happens to be the device I’m making that’ll melt these bars down. If you haven’t noticed, Mister Stark, Peter’s cell is made of sterner stuff than yours.”

He had noticed, thank you very much, but he let it slide. They didn’t have long and Tony didn’t want to waste Peter’s precious escape plan time to argue.

“Vibranium can only be broken by more vibranium,” Nickolas continued. “Tennison just so happens to have a supply. Black market stuff, of course, but it’s real. I’ve been stealing off of him for months. I almost have enough to get it to work.”

“You could slip it to me in the soup,” Peter offered. The happy go lucky kid had suddenly been replaced by the genius – determined, straight forward, and a brain that could make Bruce Banner jealous.

“Not consistent enough,” Tony rebutted. 

“That and they won’t let me up here much anymore,” the guard shook his head. “They know that I have a soft spot for you.” He ruffled the kid’s hair again. “Who wouldn’t?”

_Every other psychopath in this place._

“Experiments then?” the kid suggested. “The guards get pretty close and personal with waterboarding. You could slip it into my hand or something then?”

Nickolas did not look pleased with the idea of having to watch Peter get tortured, but it was more plausible than the soup idea. “When? Peter, you’re barely strong enough to stand.”

“I’ll help.” Tony nodded resolutely. “Anything I can do.”

_I’ll do anything for him; just say the word._

“Oh! That reminds me!” Nickolas glanced up at the cameras above the door. They had less than thirty seconds. “Here.”

He placed a watch in Tony’s hands.

“I’m supposed to give that to you. I was told you’d know what to do with it. Keep it hidden, though. If Tennison or Richard find out you have that, we’re fucked.”

This was Tony’s watch. One of his many watches with Friday installed and direct lines to all the other Avengers. He stared at Nickolas. “How did you get this?”

Nickolas’s face broke out into anther grin. “Director Fury pays more attention than we think, and that’s saying a lot.”

“Fury sent you?” Tony gasped. Hope burned brighter and brighter each second. The device in his hands was enough to get them started. He could contact his team, he could get them out!

He could get Peter out.

“Everyday at five-seventeen, these cameras shut down. They operated by some stupid battery that has to recharge. You’ll have three minutes while they reboot to do what you need.” Nickolas nodded. “The vibranium bomb should be down by next week.”

_One more week, Peter. One more week._

The cameras were back. Tony could see the red dots at the top.

“Nickolas?” Peter swallowed, tears glistening in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

There was a faith in the kid’s eyes that Tony hoped never disappeared. A faith that, despite all the crap he’d seen, had remained untainted.

Tony would fight for that.

“Thank you.” Peter raised the bowl and the blanket for the camera.

Anyone watching wouldn’t understand the weight. But Tony did.

Nickolas nodded, smile taught. Then he was gone.

Peter settled down against the metal bars between him and the billionaire. Tony did the same, his elbow grazing Peter’s arms through the gaps.

“Hope is kindled.” Peter whispered.

Tony agreed.

. . .

Peter was shaking.

Tony’s heavy eyelids fluttered open. The hand he had in Peter’s hair trembled, but not because of his own body. Raising his head, he saw that the kid was shuddering like a leaf. Warmth spread through Tony’s chest and he stroked a finger down Peter’s cold cheek. Adjusting the blanket, he pulled the cloth up to Peter’s chin and tucked it around his shoulders. Taking part of his own blanket, he draped it as best he could over both their bodies.

“Shh, shh, kiddie,” Tony was surprised at the tender nickname, but it seemed to be doing the trick. “I’m right here, Peter. I’m right here.”

_Dad’s right here, kiddo._

. . .

“I have good news!” Richard entered their prison, adorned with a sadistic grin and clapping hands. Tony immediately stood, racing to grab his attention before he set his eyes on Peter. Tennison strolled in behind him, hands clasped behind his back, looking as if he was on holiday, not facing two of his prisoners in a cold tower in England.

“Let us go. You know that my team will find me, and they’ll kill you. If you let us go now, they might make it painless.” Tony gripped the bars with white knuckles.

“’Us’?” Tennison echoed, glancing towards his colleague’s son. “You want to take that with you?”

Peter looked up, eyes hollow and exhausted. The experiments that day had left him weak and shaking. They hadn’t fed him in four days. Tony had tried to give him part of his dinner, but the guards had seen and beaten Peter until he was black and blue.

They had two more days until Nickolas gave them Ruby. So close.

Too far.

“Of course,” Tony spat.

I want to take him with me. I want to keep him safe. I want to love him.

Tony’s eyes widened without his accord. Was that what he wanted?

His eyes slipped to the kid.

As soon as their gazes met, Peter’s eyes sparked.

And with sudden clarity, Tony knew.

That was exactly what he wanted.

_I want my son._

“Want a little boy-toy, Stark?” Richard sneered. “Oh, you don’t want him. He’s dirty. Already been tarnished, haven’t you, Spider?”

Peter raised glassy eyes to glare at his father.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he scowled. “It wasn’t my fault your aunt hired a pedophile.”

It was sad that Tony didn’t react like it was the end of the world at the new information. Did Peter Parker ever get a break.

The kid bared his teeth. “May was trying to help me!”

Richard rolled his eyes. “You can blame that bitch trying to help you on why you were raped at eight.”

Tony wanted to vomit. He wanted to scream and cry and rage at the injustice that had befallen his this kid. The overwhelming bad that had happened in his life. When did it end? When did the good finally show up?

“Aunt May was the best person in my entire life,” Peter spat. “You have no idea what she did for me – what she sacrificed. She _loved_ me.”

“She was an idiot then,” Richard replied carelessly. “Extend your hand, Stark.”

It was such a flippant turn of subject that Tony did as he was told. Anything to get Richard away from Peter. Even if everything inside the inventor urged him to kill Richard right there, he knew it would fail, he knew it would end with Peter in pain. So he lifted his arm.

Immediately, Tony realized his mistake.

There, on his wrist, was his watch.

Moments before Richard and Tennison had entered the room, he had been trying to get Friday rebooted. He hadn’t hidden it like he always did.

Fuck.

“Ah, there it is. When I heard that there was alien transmission coming from this tower, I knew that it had to be you. How did you get this past the guards? Hmm?” Tennison advanced towards him, standing before his cell door.

When Tony didn’t reply, the man shrugged. “No matter.”

In a single stroke, he unlatched the clock and took it. Tony didn’t even have the chance to fight him for it. Within seconds, the watch was under Tennison’s shoe, a broken mess on the cold stone floor.

Horror seized him. Peter gasped.

“Don’t worry, Stark. You needn’t contact your little friends.” Richard smirked as his accomplice kicked the pieces around. “The Avengers are on their way. I’ve been found out, you see. You’ll live to see the rest of your life, I assume.”

Tennison sighed dramatically. “Well, we won’t have any part of ending it now, I suppose we should say. I apologize. I wanted to do so much more with you, Anthony.”

“Was that the good news?” Tony hissed between clenched teeth. The knowledge that his friends were coming as good, yes, but there was something more. There had to be.

“No, no, that’s not the good news.” Richard rubbed his hands together. “The good news is that little Einstein here is useless. We’ve done all we can with him.”

Peter’s body suddenly seemed fully invested in the conversation. “You’re done? No more experiments?”

“Yep!” Richard clapped. “No more experiments.”

Tony knew before he _knew_.

“Do you have a preferred form of death, mutant?”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“We’re exterminating you, Spider,” Tennison supplied, looking down at his nails.

“I thought you just said – but –!”

“After everything that’s happened, after what you are, do you really think that anyone wants you?”

Richard’s question hung in the air. Peter stared, tears gathering in his eyes.

_I want him._

“Fine then. I’ll let you bleed to death. Do you like the sound of that? Tennison?”

The billionaire sighed, rolling his eyes. “Whatever you wish, Parker, just make it quick. Goodbye, Anthony.”

Tennison walked out of the prison, shiny boots clicking against the stone.

“What did I do to you?”

Peter’s horrified tone shook the silence that had followed the slamming of the door.

Richard tore his gaze from Tony’s wretched expression to look down at his son. How depraved this man was, to be looking into the eyes of something so pure and beautiful and good, to have taken part in creating that thing, and to hate it.

Tony couldn’t imagine it.

“Nothing. You did nothing. You are nothing. Goodbye. I hope you rot in Hell.”

Peter sat back on his legs and lowered his head.

Richard turned and walked out of the room. Right before he called the guards in, Peter said, “I’ll save you a seat.”

There was a moment where Richard Parker was shocked. Peter raised his eyes, blazing fury bright and unquenchable written across every feature. For a faint second, there was fear in the scientist’s eyes. The strength that Peter had been building since childhood reared its head and shone in all its glory and it was _frightening_.

The moment was gone as quickly as it had come, but Tony knew that Peter would remember it for the rest of his life.

So would he. And so would Richard, however short the remainder of his life may be.

Because Tony was going to kill him. He would die, and Tony was going to be there to see it.

Richard didn’t reply, simply gestured to the boy. The guards walked into the prison, the door closed behind them, and it began.

Peter backed up against the back wall of his cell, raising weak arms to protect himself. It was futile. So were Tony’s rising shouts of protest, each ignored as the four men entered Peter’s cell like harbingers of death. Their dark grins unsheathed, they towered over the kid like giants. Then the beating started.

Round after round ensued. Tony’s heart broke with each punch, each kick, each new cry of pain. But he couldn’t do anything. None of this was according to plan. His watch was broken, Peter wasn’t even going to get waterboarded tomorrow because he was going to be killed here and something told Tony that he was going to die with him.

Tony wasn’t going to survive if Peter didn’t. The world wasn’t going to continue if Peter didn’t. The sun wouldn’t shine if Peter didn’t.

Tony’s life would be meaningless if Peter wasn’t in it. He didn’t know how he’d functioned without the boy before, how he’d gotten along without his this kid by his side.

He couldn’t lose him now.

He wouldn’t.

Peter swallowed, blood slowly dripping from his mouth. Tony watched, eyes horrified and wide, as the boy raised his head. It was like watching paint dry, but Tony’s glistening gaze never left the kid as he licked his busted lips, eyes shining with brave rebellion as he spat, “Another round, sir?”

The punch went directly to his nose. As did the next, and the next, and the next, and then they began to kick him, throw him on the ground, use his own chains to strangle and beat him. Tony screamed but found his voice faded into a black hole from which their captors could not hear. His screeches for them to stop, to take him, to just leave Peter alone, weren’t heeded. The billionaire was forced to watch as the stuff of his nightmares happened right in front of him.

Hours later, when the boy’s bloody body was left broken and bruised on his cell floor, Tony crawled over to him, tears coating his cheeks. He reached through the cold bars, the chill from them nothing compared to how cold he already felt, filled with the dread of Peter’s punishment. His fingers ghosted across his curls; he was almost driven to a fresh wave of sobs at their softness – small treasures.

A small breath, and those doe-brown eyes opened slowly. Amidst the discolored skin, the crimson stains of blood, was that flame of defiance, that hope that Tony had come to latch onto like a lifeline. In this dark place, _he_ was grabbing tight to _Peter’s_ unwavering faith in a happy ending. He, hero and adult, was taking hold of this child’s courage when _he_ should be the one standing firm.

How much better was this seventeen-year-old than he? How much more had the world thrown at him, beat him down, and yet he continued to stand up again and again, and he loved people and he liked counting stars and he told stories about doing Biochemistry as a seventh-grader.

He curled his fingers into Peter’s brown locks. As the kid hummed happily, Tony was hit with the most horrible yet most motivating realization.

Peter never flinched.

. . .

Nickolas barged into the tower in the middle of the night. Sleep disappeared; Tony immediately jumped to his feet.

“The Avengers are here. So’s SHIELD. Come on.” he threw something at Peter’s cell door. With a loud BANG! It blew open, the door flying into its opposite neighbor. He ran to get Tony’s door open as well.

Joy shot through Tony like a bullet. He nodded, turning to wake his the kid.

“Peter,” Tony shook the boy. “Peter, wake up.”

Peter didn’t move.

“Peter.” Another shake, harder this time. “Peter. Peter Parker.”

Nothing.

Terror seized him. “No. No, no, no, no, no, Peter!”

Silence.

Tony raised his tear-stained eyes to Nickolas, standing in front of his open cell door. The guard was lost, frozen. He looked hopeless.

“NO!” Tony scrambled to his feet, pushing the man aside to dash into Peter’s cell. He collapsed next to ~~his~~ the boy. The first time that Tony held him for real and it was the last time.

“No! Peter Parker, you come back to me right now, do you hear me? I will ground you until you’re forty if you don’t wake up RIGHT NOW!”

“To ground me I kind of have to be your kid.”

His voice was small, tiny in fact. But alive.

Blessedly, beautifully alive.

Tony laughed wetly, hugging Peter so tightly that he was sure it would hurt, but Tony would feel guilty about it later. Right now, with Peter’s head in the nook of his neck and shoulder, his hot breaths short but steady, he couldn’t care. The kid fit so perfectly there, so sure and certain and precious.

His.

 _His_ kid.

“I guess you do,” Tony laughed again, broken and shaky and all kinds of scared. His arms shook as he helped Peter to unsteady feet. “I’m alright with that if you are.”

Peter’s smile was weak.

But alive.

Beautifully, blessedly _alive_.

“We need to move.” Nickolas handed Tony a handgun and then pulled something out of the bag on his back. It was blue and red and it had-

“Is that my suit?” Peter asked, awe in his voice.

“Managed to find it amongst all the crap they have in the basement.” The guard grinned. “Thought it might bring some comfort. Superhero again and all that.”

When Peter slipped it on, Tony was filled with pride for his kid.

“Let’s go get ‘em,” Tony grinned. “Spiderman.”

Peter’s grip on Tony’s hand tightened.

Together, the trio raced out of the prison. They never saw it again.

. . .

Navigating the castle was chaos. Tony could distantly hear the tell-tale sounds of Rhodey’s repulsors and Cap’s shield. Slowly, the terror he’d been feeling upon seeing Peter’s unmoving body was replaced with relief. They were going to be okay. They were going to be free!

Peter was going to be his.

“When all this is over, and we, ya know, get back to civilization,” Tony snorted.

Peter laughed. God, this kid.

The billionaire swallowed down emotions as they turned another corner, Peter’s fingers intertwined tightly with his. “I was wondering if you wanted, to, you know, live with me?”

The kid stared. “Really?”

“Really.”

“You’re serious?”

“Completely. 100%. All the way.”

Peter halted in the middle of a dark corridor, but Tony could see his eyes just fine.

“Y-you… you want me?”

Tony’s heart broke and swelled at the exact same time. “More than anything, kiddie.”

Peter’s bottom lip trembled. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Tony’s smile quivered. “You wanna be my kid?”

“ _Please_.”

That was all it took. One little word and Tony gathered Peter up in his arms again. He slid into his spot like it was made for him, and perhaps it was. Perhaps the universe had crafted Peter Parker and Tony Stark to meet, to find each other and love each other. Perhaps the universe that created Peter and Tony to help heal each other’s brokenness, to mend their flaws.

Perhaps.

The moment didn’t last, and soon they were off again, running after Nickolas down dark hallways and dusty corridors, hiding in shadows as guards raced past. It was funny and tragic to see Peter in his suit. It was the Stark suit, the one that Tony had created for who he thought was a grown ass man. Its colors had dampened after a year of being shut in a basement, but it still had the same kind of effect – bright hope, a slightly childish, comic book style costume that caught eyes and made people stare. It was supposed to be a beacon of light in New York. It had been, now that Tony thought about it. New York would rally behind their hero. The Avengers, yeah, they were the world’s heroes. But Spiderman?

He was New York’s.

God, Tony wondered what the people would do if they found out he was a Spider _baby_.

“You’re staring,” Peter whispered as they inched down a flight of stairs, lips tilted up in a mischievous grin.

It was true. Tony kept looking back at his kid. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” The smile widened to adorable proportions. “I imagine seeing your son for the first time can kind of be jarring. Just let it sink in for a little while. You’ll get used to it.”

 _Your son_. Peter had called himself Tony’s _son_.

Tony moved in slow motion. He reached up to cup Peter’s cheeks, gently tracing his skin with his thumbs. Touched each of his faint freckles and curled one of his brown locks around his fingers. He stared into Peter’s big brown eyes and through all the crap that he’d seen, all the weeks of sleeping against each other, the meals sharing stories and comparing Star Wars theories, this was the moment that he loved Peter most.

A strain of music came to him from some musical that Bucky favored.

_Look at my son…_

“This is nice,” Peter breathed.

Tony looked at his precious child, at this kid, his kid, who’d grown from stranger to partner so quickly, who Tony would die for in a heartbeat.

Who Tony would _live_ for.

And he laughed, tears cascading down his cheeks as he bent forward to press his forehead against his son’s. His shoulders shook with his sobs. He didn’t know why he was crying like this. The pain and overwhelming uselessness of watching Peter, the kid who’d become _his_ kid, being tortured and dehumanized for a month had finally caught up with him. All the nights he’d kept his own tears at bay so that Peter could cry, all the times he’d wanted to break but kept it together were raining down on him now. He gripped Peter’s chin tighter yet gentler all at once and _sobbed_.

_Look at my son. Pride is not the word I’m looking for. There is so much more inside me now._

Nickolas was shushing him, but Tony wasn’t sure he was listening. All that mattered was this precious treasure in his arms, Peter’s big brown doe-eyes staring up at him full of love and trust, and the truth that this kid was going to be his.

“I promise.” He choked, even as Peter reached up to wipe away his father’s tears.

Peter, who’d heard promises from his parents, his uncle, his aunt, finally believed.

. . .

Richard found them.

They were almost to the main doors. They were almost out.

Suddenly, Peter let out a scream and fell, his hand yanked from Tony’s firm grasp. The inventor stumbled to a halt and whipped around. Peter lay on the ground, seizing, blood bubbling up from his lips and running down his chin.

Tony’s whose tears still hadn’t dried, wanted to cry again. “STOP!”

“You think I would capture Spiderman and not implant a self-destruct chip somewhere in that thing?” Richard was crazed. His lab coat was singed and there was a crimson stain running from his stomach to his pants. He’d been shot, but that wasn’t stopping him. He pointed the device in his hand at Peter again and an even louder screech was pulled from his beaten chest. Tony’s heart yelled in retaliation.

The guards following the mad scientist halted at his raised hand, waiting for him to give them a command.

“Your team’s here, Stark. Your Black Widow got Tennison, but they won’t get me. Not without getting him too.” The bastard took a step closer to Peter, as if he was going to touch him. As if he was going to take him.

“Over my dead body,” Tony seethed, lifting the gun Nickolas had given him. The guard was at his side, weapon ready. Neither would let Peter die.

Not on their watch.

“Watch what you wish for.” Richard grinned, but he was shaking. The blood loss was getting to him.

There was a split second where his hand moved from the button and Peter jumped.

Tony had seen Peter in action before. Hell, he’d fought with Peter. But Tony hadn’t thought the kid could fight, that he had the energy or stamina to, not after a year and a half of torture and malnourishment.

Peter could _fight_.

Spiderman attached himself to the ceiling, crawling behind Richard with incredible speed. He dropped to the floor, taking down two guards at once. At the sudden strike, Richard became distracted, and both Tony and Nickolas jumped to aid their friend. The scientist whipped out a gun of his own, but not quick enough. He was dead before he could pull the trigger.

Tony felt a warm contentment pool in his stomach at the blood running down the bastard’s forehead.

Watching Peter fight was oddly satisfying for Tony. The kid, despite wounds and aches, was fighting like he’d been trained all his life. Quick, short, aimed hits and kicks took down soldier after soldier until he was the last one standing. He jumped up onto the ceiling of the hall, webbing up the men and giggling gleefully.

A familiar voice shouted, “TONY!”

The billionaire whirled around and came face to face with his best friend. “Rhodey!”

James Rhodes was quickly followed by Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. For the first time in a month, Tony let his guard down. He relaxed, letting Nickolas take his gun. He fell into Rhodey’s arms, hugging his companion tightly and echoing reassurances of his health.

It was over. It was all over.

“We thought you were dead!” Sam clapped him on the back.

“Who’s this?” Steve gestured to Nickolas, shield at the ready just in case.

“This is-,”

“Nickolas Fedorov,” the ginger interrupted, hand outstretched.

Recognition shone in the other heroes’ eyes.

“Oh, your Natasha’s friend,” Rhodey nodded in understanding, hand never leaving Tony’s shoulder. “Fury sent you.”

“Yes,” the man replied. “I’ve been here for seven months now, trying to find a way to destroy Tennison and Parker from the inside. I found out about Peter two months ago, and once I realized that he was the reason all this was happening, I knew I had to get him out.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “Peter? Who-,”

Peter chose that moment to drop from the ceiling, shaky smile on his lips. Tony’s entire body relaxed, and he turned to take the kid in his arms forever and never let go. “You know-,”

He didn’t see Rhodey’s gun. Didn’t say anything to the kid, didn’t voice his adoration or gratefulness that he was alive. His teammates didn’t know that this kid was on their side. They probably thought he was another agent. After all, people crawling on the ceiling sounded like something out of a horror movie.

The bullet went straight into Peter’s chest.

There was a moment of perfect stillness.

And then Peter’s wide eyes met his.

“Tony?”

And it all went to hell.

The second slow motion portion of Tony’s day was spent watching Peter glance down at the wound in his stomach. They stared as the crimson grew across his suit, deepening the red that it was already colored. The realization dawned on the kid slowly, dangerously slowly, and perhaps the beatings of the night prior were catching up to him and making him sluggish, halting his healing factor.

“Wait…” Peter’s voice wavered, and he dropped.

Tony sprinted to catch him, and distantly he heard someone scream and he realized that the person screaming was him. He desperately grabbed Peter, pulling him into his chest and rocking him back and forth. Terror buzzed through him like alcohol, conquering his chest and making him wheeze. Breath came in quick spurts, quicker than Peter’s hitched ones, and somehow both of them were crying and talking and suddenly the world came back into horrible focus.

“Tony, Tony,” Peter’s hands were slippery with blood as he pawed at Tony’s chest. “Tony, it’s okay.”

“Don’t you fucking – shut up. Just shut up, Peter. Keep breathing and don’t talk.” He was shaking all over – they both were.

“Tony.”

The hero froze. “Yeah?”

“I was just shot by Colonel James Rhodes.” Blood trailed out of his mouth. Steve knelt on his other side and helped apply pressure to the wound. He slipped a hand under the kid’s neck, supporting his head.

He was aware that his friends were calling for help, that they had realized this kid was friendly, that he’d been shot and needed medical assistance. “Yeah, kiddo. How ya feeling?”

“Best day ever,” the boy breathed with a laugh. He cringed in pain, a whimper escaping his tightly closed lips.

“Yeah? I bet being shot by a renowned superhero is a step up from being tortured.” Tony tried for a laugh, he really did, but he couldn’t muster up any semblance of cheerfulness. For some insane reason, a scene from Tangled (Steve’s favorite Disney movie) popped into his head. Rapunzel cradling Flynn’s bloody body. Wasn’t that what this was? Peter was Tony’s new dream. He was the reason he’d fought, the reason he’d survived. He was the reason that life was worth living now; that’s who he was in Tony’s eyes.

_You were my new dream._

“For sure,” Peter gasped, tears leaking out of his closed eyes. “I mean, this hurts, but man it’s nothing compared to electrocution. That stung like a motherfucker.”

Rhodey looked grief-stricken, frozen on the spot as Sam continued shouting for help. Tony ignored the sad acceptance that had slipped across Cap’s features. Nickolas had collapsed against the corridor wall, defeat enveloping his body as he slid to the ground.

The billionaire couldn’t even manage a chuckle, shaking his head against his teammates’ despair. This was Peter’s deflection – it was both of theirs. Humor hid pain. The kid and he were both well trained in the area of hiding true feelings behind self-deprecation and sarcasm. “Don’t you worry, Peteypie. Once the doctors fix you up I’ll make sure he apologizes.”

The kid snorted. “Just another battle scar to tell the grandkids about, right?”

_And you were mine._

“Yeah, yeah, kiddie. Just another war story.”

“’ike it when you call me that.”

The billionaire’s hands shook. God, please, please, I just got him. Don’t take him from me too. Not him too. “Yeah?”

“Makes me feel safe.” His voice continued to drop, becoming hoarser and hoarser as blood trickled down his chin. Tony made quick work of wiping the crimson off his boy’s skin. It didn’t belong there, it never had. None of this should have happened. If Tony had been the hero he was supposed to be, the genius he’d become famous for, this kid never would have been kidnapped. He never would have been tortured or degraded or treated like a monster.

“Y-yeah?” Tony ran his hands over Peter’s face, tracing his cheekbones and closed eyelids. “How do you feel about ‘baby’? Too much?”

Keep him distracted, don’t let him feel scared, keep him awake until the medics arrive.

The teenager scoffed weakly. “’m seventeen, Mister Stark.”

“Hey, where did Tony go? I’d just gotten used to that.” He gently stroked Peter’s hair out of his face, reveling in the small mercies of its softness. His skin was growing colder.

“Could call you Dad.”

His breath stopped.

“Tony, the SHIELD doctors are here!”

Tony was panicking. He heard shouts of medics and suddenly there were arms reaching for Peter. Steve’s hand disappeared from Peter and moved to settle on his arm, reassuring him that he could let the kid go.

He could let his kid go.

_Could call you Dad._

Suddenly, Tony was struck. What if Peter died without knowing that Tony would love that? That Tony loved him?

“Peter, hey, hey, look at me.” Those baby browns met his tear stained gaze. “I’m going to adopt you, okay? If you want me to. I’m going to take you home – to my home – and love you like my son. You can go back to school, or, or I can teach you. Whatever you want. And we’ll watch Harry Potter and go out for ice cream and you can meet Bruce Banner, okay? That sound good? Yeah? Peter? Kiddo? The medics are here, kiddie.”

Peter’s eyelids drooped. An oxygen mask was placed over his mouth.

“Hey, stay with me. Stay with me, Pete.”

The boy’s eyes opened slightly, dark brow furrowed in pain and confusion. “… Dad?”

Warmth blossomed among the cold fear that had made its home in the pit of his stomach. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m right here, Pete. I’m right here baby.”

“Scared.” He whispered.

Tony wept as his kid was lifted onto a stretcher. “No, no, don’t be scared, baby. I’m right here. I’m not leaving.”

_Your Dad’s right here, kiddo._

His eyes closed. No breath escaped.

“Peter? Peter?!” he tried to pull away from Steve’s strong hold. “Let me go! That’s my kid, Rogers! I didn’t tell him! I didn’t tell – let me GO! That – that’s my _kid_!”

Peter was rolled away and screams of a crash cart sounded, a failing heart monitor was heard, and Peter died.

Tony’s heart gave out. All he’d worked for, all the promises he’d made.

Worthless.

The last thing Tony saw before he passed out was Peter’s crimson-stained hand falling off the stretcher, blood dripping to the ground.

. . .

Tony was roused by a steady beeping. He groaned, ready to bemoan a comfortable bed in exchange for his cobblestone dwelling when he realized that he was in a bed.

Shooting upright, breathing fast, the irritating noise began to speed up. His eyes flew open and searched desperately for Peter, for any indication that his kid was alive, that he was okay, that he hadn’t fainted and left Peter to die alone-!

“Tony, Tony, calm down! He’s alright, he’s okay!” Bruce’s voice pierced the chaos of Tony’s mind. “He’s in the next room, don’t worry!”

“Bring him in here, it’ll help him chill out!” Sam shouted from the hallway.

Compound. He was in the Compound. He knew that, he did, but the knowledge of being home did nothing to ease his horror at the absence of the person who’d been by his side for weeks. Peter had been constant; he had always been there when Tony had woken up and now, he was gone, and Tony had failed him. He was dead and it was all Tony’s fault.

“Tony, Tony, you’re having a panic attack!” Bruce’s hands settled on his friend’s shoulders, looking two shades away from turning green. “Breathe! Breathe, dammit!”

He couldn’t. How could he breathe when Peter wasn’t? How could he take a breath when Peter would never be able to again?

The door opened again, and the familiar sound of hospital bed wheels screeched against the sides of Tony’s skull. He jerked, breaths still coming too short and quick and the edges of his vision were fuzzy. Pushing Bruce weakly aside, his gaze bore down to the bed that was being pushed to his side.

He lasted long enough to see Peter’s sleeping face before he passed out again.

. . .

He made sure to breathe properly when he awoke the second time.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and turned, immediately remembering what had transpired in his brief moments of consciousness hours before.

As soon as he saw those curly locks, his heart stopped galloping.

Peter’s face was lax, peaceful. It was something that Tony had never seen before, but he knew that it was going to become one of his favorite views. Weeks full of sleepless nights and whimpers that echoed the hoots of owls had shown every painful expression that Tony could imagine on the kid’s face. Seeing him like this, so serene and childish, pained him in a way he couldn’t have anticipated.

All the months, years, taken from this innocent child. Years of loss and hurt and death had left him scared and alone and in pain, pain that even Tony couldn’t understand. His pedigree of loss was nothing next to Peter’s, his resume of misfortune paled in comparison. 

He wondered how long it had really been since Peter had slept so soundly.

He didn’t know how long he lay staring at his kid. His son…

“Imagine that, kiddie,” he whispered fondly. “My very own kid. Imagine that.”

As if he knew that his guardian was talking about him, Peter began to wake up.

“Tony?”

His voice was quiet, raspy, and the single most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

“Yeah, kid. I’m right here.”

“Where?”

“If you’d open your eyes, you’d be able to see me.” Tony laughed wetly, reaching over to run his fingers through Peter’s hair. “Come on, now, kiddie. Open those big brown peepers for me.”

It was telling how much Peter trusted him that he obeyed immediately. He turned slowly, eyes opening at a snail’s pace but opening all the same and there they were! Big, beautiful, Bambi brown eyes. Tony almost gasped at the sight.

“Hi, buddy.” He sounded pathetic, all weepy and sad and overwhelmingly happy all at once.

Peter’s teary eyes squinted with his smile. “Hi.”

Tony decided he was still too far away. He struggled out of his bed and into Peter’s, ignoring the kid’s weak protests. He gently moved the kid to one side and then settled on the other. He brought the kid back into his arms.

He fit perfectly.

. . .

“We don’t have to do this now, if you’re not … if you want to wait or anything.”

Tony looked up from the papers in his lap. Adoption papers, hastily gotten together and approved courtesy of Pepper Potts. Confusion furrowed his brow as he gazed down at the kid at his side, tucked against his hip, safe and sound where he belonged. He was fiddling with his blanket, not meeting Tony’s eyes.

“What do you mean, kiddie?” the endearment rolled off his tongue like it was made for Peter.

“I mean …” the young hero swallowed nervously. “I’d understand if you didn’t… if you changed your mind.”

“Changed my – kid, what are you talking about?”

Peter sniffed. “About wanting me as a kid.”

They hadn’t talked about the prison yet. They hadn’t touched on all the dehumanization or the torture or the experiments. They hadn’t talked about Richard and Tennison. They’d barely talked about Peter’s wounds, for Christ’s sake. But Tony knew, had known, that the insecurities would be deep, engraved in the child almost. Every other person had left him, what reason did he have to believe that Tony would stay?

“I mean, I’m a klutz,” the kid continued, seeing Tony’s silence as slow agreement. “I’m a sad excuse for a superhero. I mean, I got my uncle killed! I don’t know how to spell necessary correctly and half the time I hate myself and I’m probably depressed and I’m not good at cooking or sports. I’ve never been an easy kid and I’d completely understand if you didn’t-.”

“I love you.”

Peter froze. His fingers stopped fraying the edges of his blanket. His wide eyes bore into Tony’s waist. His entire body went rigid.

“I love you, Peter Benjamin Parker,” Tony continued, moving one hand to stroke the hair at Peter’s temple. It calmed them both down. “I love you so much my chest aches, kiddo. I love you so much that I want to adopt you, I want to call you Son and I want you to be able to call me Dad. I love you so much that I want to wake up early and make breakfast for you, kid. I love you so much that I would willingly go through every single goddamn torture method they used on you just to see you smile.”

Peter was crying, but it didn’t make Tony sad like all the other times he’d cried had. This was good crying. This was worth it.

“I love you, Peter. You’re my kid. I wanna make that shit official.”

The teenager snuggled closer to him, quiet sobs shaking his shoulders.

“Do you want that?”

He nodded against Tony’s side.

The billionaire chuckled, cradling one side of Peter’s face. “You sure?”

“100%,” Peter whispered.

“Good.” He signed the final paper and handed the pen off to Peter. “Then sign here, kiddo. I promise you aren’t giving me your soul.”

Pepper came to take the papers away, pressing a kiss to both of her boys’ foreheads.

Peter curled into his self-designated spot in Tony’s arms. “I love you too.”

They would be alright.

Stark men were made of iron, after all.

. . .

Doctor Strange was waiting in the lounge area as soon as they exited the medbay.

Tony had been discharged after two days with a firm order from Bruce to get at least seven hours of sleep and three meals a day for three weeks straight; he knew he couldn’t ensure more than that. However, Tony was too quick to agree to the terms. If him being stronger helped Peter, he’d eat five meals and get twelve hours of sleep. Hell, he’d hibernate for that kid. Peter, on the other hand, stayed in the medbay, on that rickety hospital bed with an IV stuck to his arm, for a week and a half. In his stay, he’d ensnared Bruce Banner, gotten Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes wrapped around his pinky, and even gotten a fond smile out of Natasha Romanoff.

He’d be just fine.

He was released with a promise to eat and sleep at least as much as Tony and no strenuous hero activities for three months.

As soon as the doors opened, the sorcerer stood. Stephen’s normally hardened eyes turned softer than Tony had ever seen them. “You found him.”

Tony was about to make a joke about the longevity of his captivity, but then he realized that the sorcerer wasn’t looking at him at all.

He was looking at Peter.

“What do you mean, Doc?”

“Well,” Strange smirked gently, if one can do such a thing, and his eyes strayed back to the billionaire. “Peter Parker and Tony Stark always find each other eventually. It’s one of the only constant things in any universe. You two are like magnets. No matter who or what you are, where you live, who you become, one always finds the other. Often in the least expected ways.”

Tony blinked. “Pardon?”

“Like in the realities?” Peter questioned, tilting his head. “The ones you saw with… with Thanos?”

The surgeon’s face mellowed again, and he laid a light hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You are so much cleverer than any of us give you credit for, aren’t you, Mister Parker?”

Sputtering, the inventor waved his hands. “Wait, did you know about him being Spiderman?”

Peter didn’t seem to pay his dad any mind. The boy preened at the praise, cheeks darkening. “I’ve actually wanted to talk to you for a while about your astral projection, Mister Doctor Strange, sir. I’ve done research into it, of course, and I was wondering if your body is still-,”

“Are you telling me that there are other universes? Realities? Dimensions?” Tony interrupted, brows scrunched in incredulous confusion. “And in all of them, no matter what, the kid and I find each other?”

 _You do know how ridiculous that sounds, right? Strange_?

The warlock chuckled. “I know it seems farfetched, Stark, but it’s true. Choose to believe it or not; your belief does not constitute its existence. I have seen worlds where he is your son.”

Tony straightened, his hand on Peter’s back instinctively curling to hold his jacket. “He is my son.”

Peter leaned into him minutely. A reminder: _I’m here. I’m right here_.

Strange didn’t miss the encounter. He glanced between them then back to Tony. “I mean biologically, Stark.”

“So we’re soulmates?” Peter asked innocently.

Tony sputtered for a moment, until he saw that Strange’s reaction was nothing like his own. There was no laughter in the sorcerer’s gaze. Only genuine sincerity.

“No,” the hero shook his head. “Nope. Nope. I’ve put up with a lot of crap. Gods, magic, hell, I’ve seen aliens from other planets. But this is it. I draw the line here. Soulmates? Are you kidding me?”

Doctor Strange rolled his eyes. “Is it really that ridiculous, Stark?”

“Pepper should be my soulmate. Or – or Rhodey at least. I mean, I met Peter a month ago. I mean, I knew Spiderman, but not Peter. Oh, you know what I mean!”

“Well…” Peter muttered slowly.

Tony jerked, looking down at his kid. “’Scuse me?”

“I met you before,” he answered sheepishly. “At the Stark Expo.”

“We’ve met before.” Tony repeated, blinking in shock. “Before the-,”

“Yeah,” Peter looked down at his feet. “Before Spiderman and all that.”

“See?” The sorcerer’s smirk returned in full force. “You can’t keep away from each other. You met Peter as a child, sought him out to fight for you as a teenager, and now, at the precipice of adulthood, you found him again. Each time you didn’t know who he was and yet you felt attracted to him. Not romantically, Stark, shut up. But there is something about the two of you… something the universe wants to keep safe.”

Tony felt a wave of peace. As he looked at his son, he found his heart agreeing. His brain still thought it was utterly stupid, “true love” and all that, romantic or not, was fairytale nonsense, but his heart. His heart knew that no matter where he was, who he became or what his life was like, in any dimension or reality, he would love Peter Parker.

“Ah,” Strange nodded as Tony lifted his head to meet his knowing stare. “There it is.”

“What?” Tony snapped.

“The look.” That darned eyebrow rose.

Tony narrowed his eyes in response. The wizard snorted, waved a hand in farewell, and exited the way he’d come – dramatically and annoyingly.

“So, we’re soulmates?”

He turned his attention again to Peter. “Oh, shut up, you. This does not give you special privileges, do you hear me? You’re still going to bed at eleven until you graduate senior year. And Spiderman is still grounded until I say so.”

“Oh, you love me,” Peter scrunched his nose adorably, childishly, like he should have always been able to.

And Tony looked at his kid, his son, his _baby_ , and he knew. He reached up to brush one of Peter’s stray curls away from his face. He took the time to count each freckle splattered across his cheeks. He memorized every shade of brown in his eyes and committed the colors to memory.

In some universe, there was a Peter Parker who mourned the death of Tony Stark. There was a Peter Parker who heard the recording message, who knew that “Everybody wants a happy ending, but it doesn’t always roll that way.” There was a Peter Parker who saved everyone again and again, who didn’t think he was good enough to inherit Tony Stark’s legacy, that he wasn’t enough to be “the next Tony Stark”, to be a hero. There was a Peter Parker out there that didn’t know where he belonged, had come back to a world where he’d been replaced, forgotten, moved on from. There was a Peter Parker that continued being a hero despite all that.

In some universe, there was a Peter Parker who had lost his soulmate.

But it wasn’t this one.

As he gazed down at his kid, Tony was infinitely grateful that it wasn’t this one.

“Yeah,” Tony breathed. “Yeah, I do.”


End file.
